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Delia Barbanti

I tiptoed around the truth until
my fingers and toes went blue,
covering my cold feet with torn sheets
and sweaty palms.

Unwavering stubbornness lingered in the air
between silent stares and clenched jaws,
until I broke;
singing the words sweetly into sighing breaths,
confessions tucked safely in your dreams
safe from this broken reality.

You aren’t my first pretender,
but I’m a bad liar,
breaking through hollowed armor and false wishes
like a tidal wave made of hopeless romanticisms.

I ripped the truth out of your chest
like a stubborn weed,
satisfied with the instant gratification,
unaware of the mess I made.

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